Lying To Zack
by Sorrow Reminisce
Summary: Plagued by flashbacks he can't rationalise, Zack finds himself in a city he's unexplainably familiar with, and in search of answers.
1. Stupor

A/N: I'm sorry about overdosing on the description here, and not writing much in the way of dialogue and whatever else is important in this world. But I guess anyone who's read my fics has already figured by now that half of my babble can be skipped over before I finally reach some darn point… (oh I'm just doing an incredibly bad job of selling this fic aren't I?) Anyway, I've had Zack stuck in my head lately so I had to go with the flow and write this. Chapter two is half written, so there's a vague chance I might update it again… Please drop some feedback and tell me what you think!

* * *

Lying to Zack

by Sorrow Reminisce

In a narrow alley deserted and dark, a man huddled shivering amidst blankets ragged and torn. The stench of rotting garbage filled his senses, but he paid no attention to such discomfort. His mind was far away from the alley he inhabited. Even the decay of a decomposing animal nearby meant nothing to him. Once in his life, he had lived on the streets, fending for himself, eating the scraps that others threw his way. He knew he had experienced far worse than that even. Although how he knew this... Well, that was the great enigma.

How did he come to be here? Barely did he remember the rides he had hitched from truckers as he made his way to Seattle. Nor could he recall how he had slipped unseen through police check points along the way, as if such skilled evasion was natural to him. It made no sense. For untold years he had lived on a farm. His only knowledge of stealth lay in tracking the roaming dogs which would at times attack the cattle in their desperate hunger.

Thinking now of these stray, starving animals -a legacy of the Pulse, he realised that he understood their desperation. He felt it too. The hunger. The primeval fury building up within himself. The closer he had come to Seattle the stronger these feelings grew. And with it, a feeling of horror he could understand least of all.

The icy caress of winter forced nimble fingers through the cloths that covered him, and stroked his skin with its sharp and cutting touch. Violently the man began to tremble as he pulled the blankets tighter around himself. He hated the cold. He hated winter. Although he had no idea why. Only that the shivering numbness brought with it memories he swore were not his own.

These unbidden memories forced themselves upon him now, assaulting his mind with the intensity of a lifetime's worth of forgotten thoughts. He didn't want to remember someone else's life. How could this be happening? Why was he being tormented like this?

((Snow. Images of snow plundered his mind. Always there was snow.))

Why? No, better not to tempt his mind by asking such a question. Better simply not to know.

The man squeezed his eyes tight and fought to block the images out. For not the first time since these visions had begun to plague his conscience, he wondered if he was truly going mad. It was the only answer to what was happening to him. And yet he had left the safety of the farm, to wander these strange city streets as a mad and homeless man - what had he been thinking?

Shrinking back further into the wall, the blonde-haired man with the tortured eyes buried his face into his knees as he tried to overcome the uncontrollable shivering which racked his body, and block the world out of his sight. Out of sight, out of mind. That phrase was a lie. The problem _was _his mind! How could he escape something that resided within himself?

There was no way to run from himself. Nor could he escape the echo of marching boots that plundered his head like an army of ghosts. Sometimes the sound was deafening and he'd clutch his head and drop to his knees, keeling over in frustration and anger.

What if these images that flashed before his tightly shut eyelids were indeed his own memories? If so, what the hell had he once been? Where did he belong? If he tried hard enough, perhaps he could forget his own existence as he had forgotten everything else? Perhaps then he could cease to exist altogether?

Crazy thoughts, birthed from a crazy mind. How else could he explain the pictures that filled his head? How else could he justify why he was here now? In a city he had never been to, yet somehow - he remembered.

_((A face now. A face pushed itself into his memory. Dark eyes, dark hair, coffee coloured skin…))_

Nails dug into flesh as he held in a cry of frustration. Always this face haunted him, tempting him to dig deep into his memory, and discover the name. The closer he had come to Seattle, the more this woman's face had haunted him. And it was her face that angered him the most, filling him with an irrational fury. Causing him to hurt…

Who was she! Why had he memorised every contour of her body? Every detail of her face? She couldn't be a figment of his imagination. Could she?

"Who are you!"

The man lifted his head and bellowed the question to the snow-filled sky, feeling the words torn from his lips by the icy wind and carried away. Crazily, he wondered if the wind would deliver them to the person whom the question was directed at - so that she could know to expect a visitor.

Just as soon as he figured out who the hell she was.

((A group of frightened faces flashed into his mind, staring up at him with eyes too old and too serious to match their age. Silently they waited. For him? His eyes scanned the woods around them. Snow surrounded them, and in the distance, the sound of pursuit.))

Always in his memories there was snow. Always the faces were those of children

An anguished moan escaped the lips of the man who now slammed his head back against the concrete wall. The sharp, blinding pain did nothing to rid him of these scenes, if anything, the memories were only enhanced.

Soldiers marching in unison. Their faces void of all emotion. The incredible pain of a lazer, burning into his eyes. Searing his very soul. Scarring him. Words flashing upon a screen. A voice telling him -))

"Hey! What have I told you huh?"

Rough hands grabbed the homeless man and pulled him from the ground. He allowed his body to be lifted even as a voice within him whispered protests, telling him to fight such humiliation. Such weakness. But instead he allowed his eyes to continue staring lifelessly at his feet. Apathetic. His body unresponsive. The blankets fell away as the hands shook him back and forth. In time to the voice that filled his head with a torrent of abuse.

"Filthy vermin! That's all ya are! Stop drivin' away my customers with ya diseases ya stinkin' bum!"

The voice was harsh, as if the owner had spent his life time smoking Marlboro. The sound grated on the nerves of the young man who eyes remained averted. Subservient.

"Next time I catcha ya round here I'll blow your fuckin' head off! Got it!" Calloused fingers grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet a pair of deep set brown eyes darkened by fury, and over lapped by heavy black brows. "Fucking scum. That's all you are."

The final words were thick with contempt and at last something sparked within the young man who had until now, hung his head with such defeat. The brown eyes staring back at him turned from rage to shock, and then fear, as the blonde man awoke from his self-induced stupor and wrapped cold fingers around the throat of the store owner. Obscenities were cut off by an iron-vice grip, and replaced by gurgles.

"I'm not scum."

The blonde uttered the words through clenched jaw before he threw his aggressor to one side, his body flying limp through the air like a rag doll before slamming into the wall with a sickening smack. Stepping out of the tattered blankets that had pooled around his feet, the homeless man looked towards the street at the end of the alley, ignoring the looks of fear on the faces of those who had witnessed his unusual show of strength.

It was time to move on. But where could he go without a sense of purpose to lead him in any one direction? What made one alley any different to the next? How could he seek refuge when each house harboured people who looked to him with hate and suspicion?

_You're damaged goods. _The voice of contempt scorched him, as if the words were a sharp wind whispered across exposed nerves. The voice lied. He was strong. Those who he worked with on the farm, had even feared his strength. Therefore why would he be damaged goods? Was it his mind that was damaged? Had he always been this way - even before the accident?

Aware at last of the store owner groaning as he laboriously found his feet, and of the people who continued to stare through fearful, half-averted eyes, the young man stumbled forward, down the filthy alley and towards the busy section of Seattle's South Market.

Out of the alley's shadows, the piercing morning light struck his eyes and he held up a hand to shield his sight. People swarmed around him, their faces looming before his eyes, their expressions curious, fearful, disgusted. He shrank away from their stares, overwhelmed with a sense of panic he couldn't explain. They were the enemy. All of them. He was surrounded by enemies. And sooner or later, one of them would realise what he was…. And they'd take him back…

Back where?

Where!

Faltering in his steps, exhaustion and terror causing his body to feel like a quivering mass of frayed nerves. Once again his body was racked with tremors, as if it were seizing up on him. Shakily he reached out his hands, blindly grabbing at the edge of a rubbish bin as he tried to stop himself from falling.

Blinking away the darkness that threatened to choke him, his fingers tightened on the edge of the bin. A terrible pressure closed in on his mind, crushing him beneath its weight, or so it seemed. He felt his body swoon, every remaining fragment of energy was channelled into holding himself up and holding himself still. But as the contents of the bin suddenly appeared right before his eyes, as his arms refused to comply with his efforts to pull himself back up, he realised he was failing - that this was how his story was going to end. Trash. Scum. Just as the store owner had predicted.

And then a hand gripped his shoulders, and suddenly he was no longer the only one trying to stop himself from tipping forward. The struggle was joined by the power of two now, and although the pull of unconsciousness was strong, the assistance was enough to draw him back, and groggily he leant allowed himself to be held, despite the fact his very being cried for him to deny such admittance of weakness. Such contact with another human.

A voice murmured in his ear, warm and soothing, coaxing him out from the darkness. He opened his eyes to find his head resting on the shoulder of a stranger. Groggily he lifted his head, first looking beyond the shoulder, and at a world that no longer swam before his eyes. The shakes had subsided. For now.

Finally, he shifted his vision to the stranger who held him.

Oval eyes, wide with concern, stared back into his own. Grey eyes, he dimly noted. Not brown as he had half expected. A woman. Why would she care for the fate of a homeless man? A mad man at that? He began to pull back, suspicious by her intentions. No one had good intent in this world. Especially where his kind were concerned.

_His _kind?

Shaking his head, disturbed by both the continuation of these nonsensical thoughts, and this woman who had no business caring for his fate, he pulled back, rocking slightly as his body groggily tried to respond to the wishes of his brain. But her fingers dug into his biceps, her concerned expression turning to one of determination as she tried to hold him in place. Her mouth uttered protests. _Wait, I can help you. _Suspicion mounted within him.

And then her eyes darted away from the connection they held with his own, and moved beyond him, turning fearful. A voice whispered over him. _Come on, come with me!_

He swayed against her, the world beginning to shift and heave once more. He nodded, no longer caring what her intentions were just as long as he could get away from here. Slowly he forced his body to turn, no longer fighting her hold as she clutched him protectively and held one his arms around her shoulders as she slid her own spare limb around his waist, her grip firm upon his flesh.

Together, they staggered forward, beyond the rubbish bin he had nearly come to know as intimately as if he were a scrap of garbage himself. Down the road she led him, laboriously.

He gave up on making effort to trace their steps, the roads weaved - or perhaps that was simply his own perception. It seemed forever that they walked. In the back of his mind, the echo of boots continued their ghostly march.

Finally the woman guided him into an alcove, through a doorway, along a corridor, and bringing them to halt at last before a battered door that barely seemed to fit its hinges. The man leant against the wall as she fumbled in her pocket for keys. A part of him dimly wondered why she bothered. Anyone wanting to break in would merely have give the door a damn push.

The rusted lock at last decided to turn and as the door swung open she looked to him and smiled. He made no effort to return the expression. Instead he stared back at her with distrustful eyes, wondering if this was some kind of trap, and half not caring anyway.

She spoke to him, her words seemed so far away. _Come on in, get some rest._ At least, that's what he thought she'd said.

He slid along the wall, inching towards the doorway. She reached out to help but he shrugged her hand away and lurched into the room. His balance unsteady as exhaustion forced the darkness upon him with renewed intensity.

Even as he grappled to retain consciousness, his mind's eye still took in his surroundings. Walls stained and peeling - once white, now a tarnished yellow. A wooden table against the opposite wall, with a set of matching chairs. Worn and unpainted. A mattress to his right, opposite the window set in the wall to his left. And a door, beyond the mattress…

But then blackness closed in; sweeping away his observations and erasing all previous effort to stave it off. He weaved towards the mattress but felt his knees buckle beneath him. He fell. Arms wrapped around him from behind, the woman battled against her own weakness to lift him, but he slumped forward, slipping through her hold. A dead weight.

There was nothing left within him - the fight was gone. His willpower had fled. The abyss called to him, reaching out fingers composed of shadow to brush his eyelids, closing out the light at last. The darkness brought with it a warmth, sliding over him like a blanket.

Relief washed through him and as his mind slipped away into the chasm of nothingness, he realised it wasn't so bad after all - letting go. Releasing at last the burden of conscious thought. The knowledge brought with it contentment, as he felt himself slip further from the room he was in, even as his body remained on the floor, even as a name suddenly loomed out from the darkness - a name to match the coffee coloured skin, and brown eyes that haunted his dreams.

Max.


	2. Cautious Instincts

LENGTHY AUTHOR'S NOTE rolls eyes: I know the idea of Zack being all helpless is kinda cringe-worthy, but at the moment I'm writing of him as a man trapped within his amnesia, rather than Zack. I do think Adam would still possess Zack's emotional and physical strengths, but I also think that while he's being hounded by these memories and dreams (and with no way of knowing which is which) it's going to leave him feeling pretty powerless and vulnerable. And I think that's something that would kinda terrify him. Especially being that self-control and independence was something Zack treasured outside of Manticore -and it's been effectively taken away from him.

In TKAA, he was so shaken and torn - in tears even - over both the fear that he had betrayed his sibs, and the powerlessness and brainwashing he experienced while recaptured. In the cave he was a broken Zack, completely different from the one we're used to seeing. That's the image I have in mind when writing of him as he wanders the Seattle streets, trying to work out what the heck he is. But I've also been trying to show him as regaining 'Zack' back. Even before he realises exactly who and what he is, his survival instincts are kicking in, so on a subconscious level he already kind of knows who he is. It's up to his conscience to accept it.

Anyway thank you so much to those who have reviewed! A couple of unexpected reviewers especially surprised me, and I appreciate the encouragement. -) I'm really glad that people have responded positively, as it's certainly helped my volatile muse to keep on writing, rather than turn this into yet another forgotten WIP. argle argle

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**Lying to Zack**

**Chapter Two **

It was the silence that woke him. During the past few weeks he'd grown used to noise of some kind in the background of his micro-sleeps. People walking by, their voices raised in argument or conversation. The drone of cars. Even on the farm there was the ever present noise of animals or farm machinery.

For a long time he simply lay amid the absence of sound, and focused on his heartbeat. The rhythmic pattern bringing him comfort. A child's lullaby. A tribal drum. A steady, mechanical beat that gave him an unexplainable, strong sense of security. As if with every contraction, he was reassured that he _did _in fact have a heart. And that a heart was something precious. Something you were to give to the one you truly loved. Something to be ripped out while still beating and offered like a sacrificial -

"So what's your name?"

Startled by the presence he had failed to detect, the blonde man flipped from his back and into a crouching stance, his eyes immediately falling upon the woman who sat at a table near the back of the room . Her own eyes widened in alarm, and she seemed to draw within herself, perhaps realising the full amount of danger she had potentially put her self in by bringing a stranger into her home.

Blue eyes briefly scanned her with inhuman detachment, before moving to assess the rest of the room, sweeping over the few belongings that were within sight. Body quivering slightly with the rush of adrenalin, the man analysed the distance between himself and the front door, listening intently to any sound that could indicate there was someone else in the next room. His assessment took only seconds to make, and finding himself in no immediate danger, he allowed himself to relax - a fraction.

Having no idea of where such cautious instincts came from, the man knew only that they were a part of him. Yet another of the mysteries of who he was. And right now, in such unfamiliar settings, he wasn't about to question that which was obviously ingrained into his very soul when it seemed a vital tool for ensuring his own safety.

He felt dubious of his own identity, let alone that of the woman opposite him, and he watched her intently, ignoring the question which hovered unanswered upon the air.

"Okay then… let's try _this_. Are you hungry?"

The man's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. When was the last time he ate? But he felt unsure of whether to answer the questions she had posed. Unsure of whether he could trust himself to speak. And all the while as he suffered this self-doubt, a greater awareness within himself knew that such ambivalence was not in his nature.

Drawing himself up to his full height, the man felt he should take charge of the situation rather than stand like a newborn animal still trying to find its feet. Again his stomach rumbled and he glanced to the woman again, weighing up the risk of staying over the risk of walking out her door.

* * *

From her viewpoint in the room, the woman watched the man before her as if studying a predatory animal released into an unnatural habitat. There was something raw and primeval about him yet at the same time - highly intelligent. Of this she was certain. Since she first noted the firm, pronounced muscles through the thin material of his shirt, she knew this was no homeless bum she was steering towards her home. Initially she had thought herself a simple do-gooder, making an attempt to swing karma in her favour. The potential repercussions of her actions were only just beginning to sink in. 

His barcode had been one of the first things to catch her eye after he fell to the floor two days earlier. Upon first sighting the rectangle of black lines that marked the back of his neck, the woman had felt her stomach lurch. Her initial instinct to help someone in distress was quickly replaced by the innate desire for self-preservation. Helping a transgenic could get her killed. If not by the transgenic himself, then by those who hunted his kind.

But seeing him splayed out on her worn, faded carpet, so vulnerable and unlike the vicious creatures portrayed by the media… she couldn't turn him in. Not when she had already made a brief connection with him. Not when she was so damn _bored _with her quiet, unassuming life.

The appearance of this man had given her present and future a sudden twist of melodrama, and even if he had awoken to tear her limb by limb, at least she could die knowing she'd given into her deep seated hero complex at last. Little good though that it may have done her.

Now, as his eyes swept her, their glint cold and hard, the woman began to realise the true measure of recklessness she had indulged in when making the snap decision to bring him here. His body quivered, charged by adrenalin. No doubt he was wrestling with the decision of whether to fight or take flight. If it came down to it, she desperately hoped he would go with the later.

At last she tore her eyes away from the man, unable to handle the unnerving intensity of his study any longer. Staring instead into the bottom of her coffee cup, she willed her body to rise from the seat, and hide the fear she felt eating into her stomach lining like acetic acid.

"Look, stay or go - the choice is yours to make. But please don't stand there watching me as if weighing up whether or not I'm worth eating, it's making me nervous."

The words fell from her mouth, and she looked to the man once more, catching an expression of uncertainty on his own face before the blank emotionless mask slid into place once more. Strangely comforted to see she wasn't the only one feeling anxious, she motioned towards the seat opposite her, before stepping across to the kitchen area.

Turning her back on the stranger was hard. As she reached up into a cupboard to grab a coffee cup and plate, her body tingled with fearful anticipation, half-imagining him moving swiftly to her and snapping her neck. For not the first time since bringing him across the thresh hold of her home, the woman wondered what the hell she'd been thinking, to get this far and not call the cops already.

"So do you have a name?" Voice shaking as she began to warm baked beans in a pot upon the stove, the woman sought to calm her mind as she glanced over her shoulder and forced a smile.

His watchful, unsmiling stare greeted her, he remained a solid wall of silence. Sighing, she longed to ask the questions that had been eating at her for two days now, but fought the urge, instead deciding that if she were to fill the silence with words of her own, it might coax him into opening up of his own accord.

"Well anyway, my name's Terry. Teresa actually. My mother named me after Mother Teresa, although mom was hardly the religious sort. But you know, I was born on the same day as the Angel of Mercy, and in the year of her death, 5th September, 1997. My mother had this thing about karma, and reincarnation, and…"

Pausing to take a breath, Terry realised she was rambling, and the man across the room didn't look any more relaxed because of it. "Sorry. When I get nervous, I guess I don't shut up. So uh, why don't you take a seat? I'm not forcing you to stay - I doubt I _could _force you - but if you're gonna leave, you may as well go with a full stomach. Who knows when you're gonna eat next?"

Deliberating a moment longer, the man finally stepped forward and sat down at the small table. Although, he perched on the edge of his seat as if ready to spring to his feet at any given moment.

Terry smiled, hoping it was one that was reassuring, and passed the plate filled with baked beans to him. "So…" Terry placed two cups of instant coffee on the table, ignoring her own anxiety as she took her seat opposite him. "Let's try this again. What did your uh, family name you?"

The man froze, a forkful of food suspended in mid-air, inches before his lips.

* * *

What did your family name you?

The words hovered between them, sitting upon air that had suddenly become thick and choking. Placing his fork unsteadily upon the plate, he closed his eyes as he tried to force back the ensuing feeling of claustrophobia and panic. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he struggled to draw breath, finding each lungful of air to be insufficient, as if packed full of sawdust.

"Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?"

Did she? No, only that he had found himself trying to reach into a part of his mind that refused to acknowledge family or remember childhood, and that this feeling of hopelessness always triggered such debilitating reactions. No. She didn't say anything wrong. Only asked him to remember who he was.

"Adam Thompson."

Pushing the words through gritted teeth, he fought the feeling that this name was wrong. The urgent voice within his head screamed to him - telling him this name and everything it symbolised, was a lie.

"Adam Thompson huh? Well okay then. Didn't pick you as an 'Adam' but if you say so."

"Yeah." He - Adam - found himself silently agreeing. But he was hardly about to let her know this. "I do."

Silence fell between them once again. The tension Adam felt within him - clenching his chest in it's great invisible hands, was almost static in the room. Conversation was something he had never been good at. At least, not as far as he could remember.

Upon returning to the farm following his truck accident, Buddy and Mary had spent extra attention on him, as if he were a bird with broken wings they were trying to mend. They'd tried to coax him into being a part of the family, but he'd always held back. More and more he'd find himself turning to self-analysis as winter drew onwards and he often wondered, was this apprehension of drawing close to people a part of his core personality? Or something he had learnt over time?

Right now, he didn't want to think of such things. His mind was still in disarray as he tried to piece together what had happened a few days ago for him to wind up in a ramshackle building with a complete stranger. There was something in his mind, some important scrap of information - something he couldn't quite grasp. He could only remember the cold alley and the darkness that had closed in around his mind and left him with nothing but the ghosts and shadowy memories of a life that could never be…

"Hey, are you okay?"

Adam stared at the soft hand that had reached out to touch lightly upon his own white knuckled fist which griped his fork as if trying to bend it. He flinched at the contact, and the hand quickly withdrew.

He raised his line of vision to meet the eyes of the woman - Terry. She seemed to be doing a good job of hiding her unease, but he could practically smell it on her. Actually… he _could _smell it on her. Bitter and sharp. That was the smell of fear. A smell he knew all too well. It drew him into memory once more.

_((How much had he told them? How much had he let slip about his siblings because of their torture? Fear permeated the air, and it came from him. Not fear for himself, but for them - his siblings._

_He paced the room, terror crawling up his throat, strangling him from within. What had he done? What had he revealed? He'd compromised them, left them open and vulnerable. And now they were going to be captured. Tortured. Forced back into their cage. And it was all his fault._

_" I made myself forget. To protect you. To protect all of you!"_

_The words came from his own mouth and the conviction in his voice was strong. But how could he be sure he'd managed to protect them? How when he couldn't even remember what had happened before waking up within that tiny dark prison…. that… coffin!_

_Before him stood the dark haired woman, questions spilling from her lips._

_"You called me, right? You remembered my number."_

_Yes, he remembered her number. But it wasn't the same. It was different with her. It was always different with Max._

_"I mean, how could I forget... A single thing about you? How could I?"))_

But he had. He'd forgotten everything about her. Even her name. Until now. _Max_. That was her name. She was a part of his own memories, memories that were slowly resurfacing. There was no longer any doubt in his head that he was getting closer to finding out the truth of who she was. He just needed a little more time to remember.

"You're one of them, aren't you?"

For a moment, Adam didn't realise it was Terry who had spoken to him, and not a ghost of his forgotten past. But the words weren't coming from within his own head, although he had to wonder…

Slowly, Adam looked up.

You're one of them, aren't you?

What the hell did she mean by that?

You're one of them

One of who? One of what?

aren't you?

What did she know about him? A dangerous chill ran beneath his skin, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise.

In a flash, Adam leapt from his seat, moving around the small table before Terry had a chance to register his action. Roughly, he grabbed her shoulders and hauled her to her feet, shoving her against the wall and pinning his forearm to her throat as he pressed mercilessly on her windpipe.

"What the hell do you know of me?"

The words tore from Adam's throat in a hostile growl, and the face before him lost focus slightly, as sudden overwhelming rage near blinded him. Beneath his hold, the woman struggled for air. Releasing pressure upon Terry's throat slightly, so that she could at least draw in a ragged breath, Adam leant in close to her ear, his voice threatening and low. "Start telling me what you know."

"I don't know anything!"

Terry fought to turn her head away and choked back a sob. This man was everything the public had been warned of, and she'd been foolish enough to think otherwise. And now this genetically amped monster was going to kill her. And there was not a damn thing she could do about it.

"Don't lie to me!"

Anger and frustration burned within him, charring his very soul and turning it to ash. He was so damn sick of lies! His world was a lie, his memories were lies, and the thought that this woman knew who he was and was refusing to tell him… He couldn't think, couldn't focus, couldn't feel anything except the near uncontrollable rage that surged within him.

"I'm not lying! You're… I don't know anything 'cept what I've heard on the news. I saw your barcode. That's what they told us to look out for. Creatures from Manticore have them for identification. So I figured you're one of them; a transgenic. But I swear I don't know -"

Manticore

The word rang a bell in Adam's mind. With it came another burst of rage. What was Manticore? What the hell was Manticore?

(("You've got it all wrong! They did something to you back at Manticore!"))

The willowy voice of memory flashed through his mind once more. That voice! It had held the same fear that he heard nowin the voice of this woman. But it didn't belong to the same person. It belonged to _her. _Max. The one whose memory refused to let him be. The one who had _lied _to him.

"Who is she! What do you know of her!"

He screamed the words, pressing harder upon the throat of the woman. Not giving her a chance to answer even if she had answers to give. A part of his mind told him this was wrong, that this wasn't who he was. This was Manticore. Manticore getting to him. But _what _was Manticore? And what was he?

He wasn't a killer.

…Was he?

At last Adam noticed Terry's struggles had weakened, until finally she ceased to struggle at all. Fear replaced the anger, alarm accompanied the fear. Moving his forearm from her throat, Adam caught the woman as her body slumped towards the floor, and he sunk to the ground with her.

Cradling Terry's head in his lap, Adam felt for a pulse. The heated skin beneath his fingertips held a faint rhythmic beat and relief caused his body to sag as he brought a trembling hand to his face, sinking his head into his hand as he battled the storm of emotion that raged within him.

What had he done?

The storm burst forth. Tears of shame coursed down his cheeks, and tears of relief that she was still alive. Bittersweet tears that spilt onto Terry's skin as he leant over her. And all the while she remained motionless.

Rocking Terry gently back and forth in his arms, Adam squeezed his eyes tight against the bitter tears of anger and frustration which forced themselves against his eyelids. His past was a lie. He believed that now. And the agony of such a realisation tore him apart.

All he had been told of his history - it was all a lie. But why? What was true about his past? His name? No. That was wrong. He knew it. He knew _nothing _of himself! Not even his own name! Everything he'd been told was a lie - by those he thought he could trust! And how could he know what was the truth and who to believe?

What was he? What the hell _was he_? He nearly killed this woman and for what? Naïve small talk? How many such triggers existed within him, waiting to explode? And what kind of person had he been, to lash out in such a way so quickly. Coldly. Efficiently.

"I'm sorry." Adam whispered the words into Terry's hair, the broken croon a stark contrast to the tone he had used earlier. "I'm so sorry."

She had tried to show him kindness, and what had he done in return? He'd tried to kill her. And he could tell himself all he liked that it was a mistake - that he didn't know what he was doing. But how could he tell Terry this? How could he tell her that this wasn't him, that it was some unexplainable _thing _that existed within him, and that he wasn't even aware of who he truly was?

How?

It would only cement her belief that he should be turned into the police and locked away for ever. And maybe he should be. A lunatic who went about strangling innocent people and who's only excuse was that he couldn't control himself? How could such a thing be rationally explained to anyone?

It couldn't. He'd have to leave.

Finally he'd found someone who could have helped him find out who he was, and he had to leave her. Now. Before she woke up and looked at him with eyes filled with horror. Before he saw his own accusations and fears of himself reflecting within her eyes.

_Monster_.

Picking Terry up carefully in his arms, Adam carried her to the mattress he had so recently lain unconscious upon. Placing her down gently, he drew the blankets up around her, hoping to a god he didn't believe in, that she'd be okay.

Rising silently to his feet, half fearful that she'd wake and begin to scream, Adam slipped out of the room and into the cold, graffiti covered corridor where he stood for several moments, taking in deep calming breaths.

At last, his heart began to thump slow and steady once more, and the trembling which had returned to his hands, stopped. Feeling restrengthened at least by the two days of sleep and the small meal he had barely had a chance to enjoy, Adam made his way out of the apartment and into the Seattle streets, clinging to the shadows like a wraith, knowing instinctively that he must avoid any unnecessary attention.

With each step, the 'human' feelings of fear and anxiety began to drop away, to be replaced with a comforting albeit inhuman sense of detachment. He had a mission to carry out. His own. And the realisation of this allowed his mind shift into an entirely different mode.

(("They're soldiers... And so are you. The only person you can rely on, Max, is yourself. Everything else is just a lie. It's phoney sentimentality. And it will get you killed. Now, let's go."))

Yet one that was becoming increasingly familiar to him.


	3. Pandora's Box

**Author's Note:** Sorry this has taken such a long time in coming. It feels like it's been forever since I last updated. I recently got my own domain and I've been emersed in HTML, javascript and trying to work out what the dickens MySQL is. Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing! I hope you're still out there...

Some chapters are a breeze to write, the inspiration flows, the muse is alive and everything clicks into place just like that. Then there's the chapters where nothing seems to work. You go over and over the lines, knowing they're not right but the more you go over them, the more frustrated you feel until you just want to delete the whole thing and go take up a new hobby in say, paper-mache. This has been one of those chapters roll eyes. Between trying to capture how I think Zack might react in this situation, and then stopping and asking myself 'but is this Zack?' I've driven myself round the bend, and stared at the words so much I'm almost sick to death of them. I really did enjoy writing it until I noticed just how much I was waffling. And then I read it to my boyfriend and he fell asleep... thanks dude. So uh, yeah. Happy reading. I uh, hope you're still awake by the time you reach the end.

* * *

Lying To Zack

Chapter Three - Pandora's Box

by Sorrow Reminisce

Several nights had passed since Adam had left Terry's unconscious body in her dilapidated apartment. He kept beneath the radar and slipped through Seattle as unnoticed as possible, taking no chances with sleep.

Exhaustion was slowly beginning to gain its hold, but he forced it back. He couldn't allow himself to let down his guard. A few days earlier he'd found little problem in sleeping beneath the city's night sky, but now Terry's words haunted him; turning over and over inside his head and taunting him with secrets about himself he was yet to unlock.

"I saw your barcode. That's what they told us to look out for. Creatures from Manticore have them for identification. So I figured you're one of them, a transgenic."

Those words replayed in Adam's head over and over as he sat on the roof top of a deserted building overlooking the harbour. The repetition drove him crazy as he tried without success, to rationalise her innuendos out of existence.

His mind was clearer now than it had been in weeks, and there was no denying that the deeper he looked within himself, the more his perception on certain aspects of his life began to shift and change. Terry's words had shaken him out of his stupor and as much as the implications behind her words partially terrified him, he felt as if certain areas of his life which had for so long been blurred, were at last coming into focus.

And with these realisations came questions - not only of who he was, but of who had been lying to him. And why.

I saw your barcode.

Adam wanted to believe Terry had made a mistake about his lineage. But the truth was that he couldn't remember how he had gotten the tattoo. Everything that had occurred in his life before the truck accident had been wiped clean from his memory. Buddy and Mary had filled him in on some of the gaps of his past, but all he knew of himself was what he had been told.

The explanation of his barcode had been provided one day by Buddy. The older man relayed what (he claimed) Adam himself had told them, once upon a time. The barcode was a tattoo reminiscent of the Pulse, and the way in which it effectively wiped out all documentation of his life; including medical and educational records. Leaving him with nothing but the drivers licence in his wallet, to show for who he was.

Of course, this had happened to millions of other US citizens, and as a symbolic gesture of this nation-wide lack of identity, he'd (supposedly) gone out on his 18th birthday and gotten himself a barcode tattoo. Right on the back of his neck.

Buddy was a good man, Adam had even felt drawn to looking at him as a father figure. He and Mary had both treated him as if he were a part of the family, and had gone out of their way to help him through his amnesia. Initially he'd had no reason to doubt what they'd told him of himself. But Adam was incredibly intuitive and it wasn't long before he began to sense holes in their stories.

Questions of his past had always caused the bubbly couple to become strangely quiet. Buddy had told him to forget his past and move on with his future. But the problem was that he _had _forgotten his past - and it was tearing him apart. After waking from the accident, the doctor had informed him his memory would never be 100 intact, and that he would no longer be capable of fully distinguishing the difference between memory and dream.

Of course, this could have easily explained the fragmented images in Adam's mind of shaven-headed children and snow clad forests - they were borne of dreams. But the visions began to strike him with such intensity and detail, he began to fear he was either going mad, or that there was more to his past than Buddy and Mary were willing to admit to. Perhaps it was paranoia induced by the confusion in his brain, but even so, Adam would often lay in bed at night pondering on what he was sure they weren't telling him.

When Adam had first described to Buddy the brunette woman who haunted his thoughts, the older man had frowned for a moment before explaining with a hesitant laugh that it was just a fanciful daydream of the girl he'd seen in the hospital waiting area. A detail that his 'wonky' brain had turned into false memory. After all, she was one of the first people he had seen after regaining consciousness, and so it made sense that he would cling to the memory of her face.

But now he had a name to accompany that face. And with each step he took through the Seattle streets, things were rapidly beginning to click into place.

When he had first arrived in Seattle Adam was a man lost within himself and assaulted by waking nightmares. They haunted him still, but Terry's words had become keys, turning the rusted locks inside his head and drawing him out of the haze of oblivion. Although considering what she had implied, he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps ignorance truly was bliss - and if he was in the process of opening a Pandora's Box.

Creatures from Manticore…

Manticore. He knew that word. A fact he couldn't deny, however much he wanted to. The name brought flashes of memory, so fleeting he could barely grasp one before it would dissolve. Manticore. He knew it was something to be feared - to be hated. But what it stood for and what it had to do with him, remained a missing puzzle piece.

Creatures from Manticore…

Adam rubbed his hand across his face, and frowned in frustration. _Creature. _This baffled him. What had Terry meant by creature? That he was some kind of animal? It was ridiculous. He was just as human as the next person.

Yet, when he thought back to the way in which his strength was described by others on the farm as 'inhuman', it began to make a sickly kind of sense.

…have them for identification.

A symbolic gesture of his lack of legal identity. That's what his barcode was. Nothing more. But as much as Adam tried to convince himself of this, he knew now that Terry's words had opened a much more solid line of truth inside his head. Considering his reasons for leaving the farm, her few cryptic words seemed to hold more honesty in them than anything else he'd yet been told.

A cold chill swept over Adam at the memory of the last conversation he'd heard between Buddy and Mary. At the time he'd thought they were simply in fear of his incredible strength, as was the case with everyone else aware of his strange abilities. But now... now it was just another piece of the jig saw, fitting into place.

_((The sound of frantic whispers drifted to Adam from down the hall. He stopped at the back door, his hand paused in mid air as he'd been about to turn the doorknob. It wasn't hard for him to listen to what was being said, his hearing was well above the level of 'normal'._

_"But are we safe here Buddy? Are we safe with him here?"_

_"Mary would ya quit it! He would never hurt us, how could you think that?"_

_"Oh I know he's a good boy, Buddy. But the others - they know there's something different about him. They're beginning to suspect that he's a -"_

_"They're good workers, Mary. Good men. And they know when to keep quiet. It's not the first time we've harboured fugitives. You know that, and so do our workers. Why are you so scared now?"_

_"You know it's different this time Buddy! He's not - he's not like us. The others are good men, but they're _frightened_ men. And that makes them a threat. To Adam's safety and to our safety, Buddy. Sooner or later there's gonna be officials knocking at our door. And they won't just be carting Adam away in cuffs."))_

Silence had descended upon the house after that, and Adam had turned and walked back to the field where he had been working. There he had sat throughout the evening, trying to figure out exactly what they'd meant. How could he be a threat? Why would people be looking for him?

On the farm he'd kept to himself as much as possible, especially once his co-workers began to notice his strength and stamina was far above the norm. He too wondered at his ability to work far longer than any other farmhand without tiring and while doing three times the work load to boot, but he had no one to ask for explanations. When it came to questions of such things, Buddy would simply shrug and tell him not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

When Adam had next faced Buddy and Mary, he could see something in their eyes had changed. However much they'd tried to hide it, the fear and hesitation in their voices spoke for them. They didn't tell him to leave - they wouldn't. In fact, Adam had a feeling that they _couldn't_. The blonde-haired farmhand had simply started walking, his mind so swept up in confusion and plagued by ghosts he had no idea of what he was doing or where he was going until pure instinct led him to Seattle.

Somewhere here, there was answers. Somebody knew him.

Adam Thompson. That name had never fit. Instead it hung loosely from him like clothing made for another man. One who was raised on a ranch. He knew he had never been raised on a ranch, destined to be a labourer. And he was beginning to doubt there had ever been a truck accident.

* * *

Finally Adam came down from the rooftop. For hours he'd been waiting for darkness to fall so he could make his way into South Market to steal some food. Maybe even a change of clothing.

By day the place was packed, and he ran the risk of being stopped by sector police. What if they saw his barcode? Such a thing could get him thrown in jail - or worse. The thought mortified him. The idea of being locked behind bars caused his heart to accelerate with the sudden desire to run. Retreat. Hide.

Once again he whispered a silent thanks to Terry for coming to his rescue. For a while there, he'd lost himself. Completely. So overcome by flashbacks he had no understanding of, his mind had retreated within itself. If it hadn't been for her, he could very well have stumbled into the path of a cop...

Behind him, the sudden clang of a rubbish bin overturning caused Adam to spin around, immediately alert.

A dark haired man burst from the narrow alley and turned in his direction. Adam felt his body tense as the stranger sprinted towards him, half anticipating some kind of attack. But as the man approached, their eyes met for a fleeting second and Adam noted the look of hunted desperation in the hazel orbs of the stranger who swept past.

Puzzled, Adam watched the man turn into another road and disappear out of sight. His curiosity was soon answered by a group of sector cops who tore into the street on foot, obviously in pursuit. Without thinking, Adam caught their eye and waved them in the opposite direction, then turned away with a grunt of satisfaction as they resumed what had now become a wild goose chase.

Deciding to head away from South Market after all, Adam continued to make his way back towards the industrial area. He spotted a newspaper partially submerged in a puddle of muck, and bent over it as a picture caught his eye. He scanned the soggy writing below it.

"...witnesses described the beast as being 'over nine feet tall, with teeth as long and sharp as daggers, and almost entirely covered in thick shaggy fur.'"

Adam shook his head in bemusement and chuckled as his eyes swept again over the sketch of a 'mutant transgenic'. Surely the editor of this paper must be hanging his head in shame, to be reduced to printing such rubbish? Even if the story of 'a werewolf creature rising from the sewers to kidnap a blind woman and murder her in cold blood' were true, surely such a description was sensationalised by hysteria and hype?

The newspaper had said nothing of Manticore itself, and Adam told himself the residents of Seattle were suffering some kind of mass hysteria. Adam stepped away from the newspaper with a grimace. If there were answers to be found in Seattle, tabloids were not the place to look.

Finding himself near a sector fence, the blonde-haired man stopped, unsure now of where to go. His eyes wandered over the wire, searching for some kind of breech. Nothing.

Turning away, he headed towards one of the nearby abandoned buildings, figuring on finding a place to lay low for the night. A movement caught his peripheral vision and he stopped in alarm, snapping his head to the left to find what had captured his attention. Twilight was a dangerous time. With too much light for his pupils to dilate, yet not enough for them to constrict, the dim light played havoc with Adam's eyesight. Despite how eerily acute it was.

But the street was empty.

Ready to make his way forward once more, Adam was again distracted by movement. Feeling a chill of apprehension, he wondered if someone was following him. Turning his head with more subtlety this time, he spotted it at last - a tattered poster half peeling from a wall, it's edges fluttered with a breeze that seemed to blow only on a whim.

Laughing at himself for being so defensive, Adam crossed the deserted street and pulled at the poster, thinking to keep it as a memento of just how ridiculously paraonid he was. The paper began to tear in the middle and he tugged at it gently, curiously, as the prickling sensation of memory rose within him yet again.

_((Having made his way safely into sector five, his eyes fell upon a cluster of identical posters adorning a power pole. His focus zoomed in, and he clearly recognised the police sketch of the girl. Frowning, he walked to the posters and pulled one down._

_'She's in trouble, damnit. I knew it!' Even inside his own head, his voice was irritable, angry. Max could never obey orders. And it was going to get her killed. Damnit - she was going to get _him _killed._

_Shaking his head in exasperation - disappointment even, he folded the poster and tucked it into his pocket. Time to find her - before the police did.))_

The paper was frozen in Adam's hands. The details were too clear to be anything less than a memory. With a vivid burst of clarity he knew this wasn't some kind of confused dream. This was the girl who haunted him. As a child, and then as a woman. He did know her!

And it turned out she too had been a fugitive. With a 50,000 price on her head.

Adam's mind swam with mixed feelings. He was a step in the right direction, but if anything he was now even more lost than ever. It was as if he had been given another piece of the puzzle, only to find the jig saw had grown that much larger.

"Thinking of handing her in?"

Startled by the voice, Adam jumped slightly, his eyes widening in alarm as he turned to face a sector cop.

((Escape and evade.))

The words brushed at his mind, and he pushed them back. Better to remain calm and try to act normal. "I think I know her from somewhere, yeah."

"Don't bother kid. That poster went out of style a long time ago."

The cop laughed at the desperate questioning in the bum's eyes, figuring the five digit reward to be the source. "What I mean is, the killer was apprehended a year or two back."

Adam started in shock. Was this woman in prison? What could he do now? How would he ever find out who he was?

"Move it along now." The sector cop grew impatient with the homeless man's wild stare, and waved him on. "Wouldn't want ya to try and slip through the fence now huh?"

The words finally registered in Adam's head and he turned away, relieved to depart the company of the sector cop and thankful that his hair covered the nape of his neck. Folding the poster up and tucking it in his jean pocket - a gesture that was an uncanny echo of the past - Adam felt a small measure of relief in knowing that although this woman could be anywhere, he now had something concrete to hold onto. Solid proof that she wasn't just a figment of his imagination.

Knowing she was real gave him proof that he wasn't crazy after all. In a sense, she validated his own existence. And with this proof, a fragment of powerlessness fell away, sending strength to his strides and confidence through his bloodstream.

Twilight had passed, and darkness was closing in fast. Pupils no longer suffered indecision over whether or not to dilate. It was at night that Adam truly realised the extent of his inhuman eyesight. Darkness brought with it a certain measure of freedom. He could see without being seen. Not long ago such ability alarmed him, once he realised how unique such talent was. But here in the city his enhanced senses served him well.

Adam frequently drew from his pocket the picture of the raven haired woman, his fingers tracing the outline of her features, hoping for another flash of recognition. How had they met? Had they been close? Or barely more than strangers?

These answers were beyond his grasp at present. But whatever she had been to him, Adam knew one thing for sure; This girl knew who he was. He was sure of it.

Max. He knew her name, and he knew her. Once upon a time, anyway. Perhaps she was a transgenic? And if there were others in this city, then surely they might know her. They might know _him_. On the other hand, he could simply be grasping at straws. Maybe so, but at least it was something. Some reason to not be walking these streets aimlessly, waiting for his legs to give out from under him.

A commotion ahead drained away his good mood and caused him to shrink into the shadows.

"Kill the trannie! Kill the bastard!"

Adam edged closer through the shadows until he could sense the primeval excitement and fear of a mob crowd. Shouts punctured the night and ricochet off the surrounding buildings.

"Yeah! String the freak up! Show them mutants what we'll do to 'em!"

Hesitating, Adam's body responded to the threat that he could almost taste in his mouth, calling him to escape into the night - least the murderous eyes of those ahead turn hungrily towards him.

But he needed to see what they had done. And who they had done it too. Feeling the power of knowing his strength exceeded those around him, he stepped out from the shadows and became one with the crowd which had formed around the entrance to an alleyway. Hustled forward amid the jeering men and woman who cried savagely for death, Adam's eyes fell upon a body of a man, hung by his feet from a rope, his hands tied behind his back. The blood of his wounds had congealed thick and black like a crust upon his skin. His face so bruised and swollen that his own family would barely have been able to recognise him.

But Adam recognised him. It was the man who had run past him earlier that day, pursued by sector police. The man who he'd made eye contact with for a frozen moment - and known in that instant his desperate need for freedom.

The plight of a transgenic.

Gaping in horror and disgust, Adam watched a group of men continue to lay assault upon the body as it swung from the rope. Surely the man was dead? Yet they struck the swinging corpse with sticks and baseball bats, as if he were nothing more than a piñata at a birthday party.

The grisly scene was illuminated by a burning 'X' constructed of wood. The light of its flames danced across the faces of the perpetrators until they resembled macabre creatures borne of nightmare. Their features twisted in the dancing firelight so that they looked to be the very monsters whose blood they sought to bathe the streets.

Aware of bodies pressing in close around him, Adam began to back out from the crowd and into the relative safety of the shadows. Leaving the sound of the chanting, barbaric mob far behind him he moved through the dark and tattered streets once more. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shrugged away the cold, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn't shake the images of horror from his mind.

A few hours earlier he'd read a paper fearing the worst news could be to learn he was a transgenic. Now he realised how wrong he'd been. It would be worse to discover he was human.


	4. Recognition

**A/N: **Thanks to those still reading, thank you so much for sticking by and reviewing! Your feedback really does help to inspire me just as much as the story itself. Anyway, if you like the fic, hate the fic, or want to claw out your eyes because you're damn bored with the fic, please leave a review and let me know!

* * *

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**Lying To Zack**

**Chapter Four **

((It's not something anyone has to ask me to do. It's my responsibility to look after all of them.))

Night had passed into day, and still Adam could not outrun the fresh memories that had been awakened from the gruesome scene of the transgenic's death. Stopping into a doorway at last, he leant against the alcove to escape the steady rain which had already soaked his ragged clothing.

((I compromised the others. I jeopardized everything!))

The words plagued his memory, searing his mind with their taunting echoes of a past forgotten. What had he done? It seemed the further he'd run from the mob crowd, the more these strange, disconnected words had given chase like shapeless ghouls, refusing to allow him escape from their mental torment. Begging him to remember - to realise - to understand.

((I couldn't have said anything, Max, because I don't know anything. I made myself forget the way that they taught us to.))

Faces rose to the surface of his mind, taunting him to reach out and remember before sinking to the depths again just as he began to finally grasp their names. It was useless. He wanted to run, to escape what was happening within himself. But at that thought, the voice - his voice - would taunt him more, telling him to toughen up.

_((They're soldiers... And so are you.))_

_Soldier. _The word stirred memories of camouflage material and leather boots. Of drill sergeants barking orders so early in the morning that the first rays of sunlight had not yet reached out across the horizon.

_Soldier. _In a way the thought scared him. But at least it was a thought that he was willing to accept - to a certain extent. 'Soldier'seemed a reality far easier to relate to than 'transgenic But then the panic reached out to him again, for he knew that where he his past was concerned, they were one and the same.

At least he could be relieved that the puzzle was starting to form some kind of recognisable shape. He was a soldier. The small scrap of identity was better than nothing. _Transgenic. Soldier._ _Manticore. Max. _Those four words had some kind of familiarity now. Surely it was more than he had known of himself a few days earlier

And now? If he were really a soldier, what was he to do now?

He had to return to base. To Manticore.

That was where he had come from - the name reverberated through his head with enough familiarity now for him to know this. But it filled him with a feeling of dread and fearful apprehension. And numbness. As if his mind belonged not to himself, but to others. And that thought terrified him.

But that's the way it was for nim now, wasn't it? His mind was not his own? He had no control over it. Was there _ever _a time in his past when he had _truly _been his own person?

It seemed to Adam that despite being trapped within a haze of fragmented memories, he was only now beginning to think for himself.

Manticore. Surely this place held answers for him. Surely he had to return.

((Anything's better than going back. You said so yourself.))

Shaking his head to try and rid his mind of the echo, Adam rubbed a weary hand over tired eyes before rising to his feet. He had to leave Seattle, and find this 'Manticore'. But so many contradictions battled within his mind, he wondered how much of this he could take before finally losing himself to the darkness that hovered at the edge of these flashbacks, waiting to step forward and reclaim him.

What place could be so terrible that it would fill him with trepidation and cause his heart to race even now? Even as his mind was wiped clean of all except the fuzzy images and disjointed echo of words?

_((His body continued to convulse from the shock of the tazers as they dragged him away. Away from the snow covered woods. Away from freedom._

_On the hill top his eyes fell upon a lone figure, watching. Her face stricken with an emotion that only freedom would allow her to show. He willed her to turn and run, to escape Manticore. Why did she stand there and watch through tears that caused her eyes to shine? Didn't she realise that if he could see her, they - with their heat-seeking goggles - would soon see her too?_

_And then they would _both _be dragged back to the cells - or maybe into the basement with the nomolies. And his sacrifice would be for nothing. Surely the fate of those who dared to defy Manticore would be harsh...))_

Manticore.

Anything was better than going back to Manticore.

Sliding to the ground once more, Adam cradling his head in his hands as that single memory dropped into the well of recollection, and he kicked himself for ever having wanted to know. His body trembled as the lack of nourishment and sleep finally began to take it's toll. It seemed he didn't possess an endless supply of stamina after all, and he hated himself all the more for being so damn weak.

((If you stay here, you risk tactical exposure or have you forgotten everything that they taught us?))

Adam was sick of wandering the streets. He was sick of battling against his own mind, taking one step forward only to fall back again, in denial more than anything else. A part of him wished for the bliss of oblivion once more - as if wearing the guise of a farm boy during the day while waking in the night to find the mask had slipped and left him sweating and filled with memories of another man, could be counted as bliss.

Then he gritted his teeth in frustration, feeling that this wasn't what he was - a wreck of a man, sitting in a doorway and waiting to die. But what were his options? Either he could walk the streets - right into a sector cop, or a mob of transgenic hunters; or he could stay right here in this alcove, and wait for them to come to him. Either way, what did it matter?

No. Defeat felt wrong. It didn't sit well in his mind. The hidden part of his conscience willed him to get up, to keep moving, to find a place safer than this doorway to take refuge in.

If only he had some place else to go.

* * *

Time dragged by. Still crouching in the doorway, Adam's nose detected a broken sewer pipe, and wrinkled each time the breeze picked up and carried the odour of human waste to him. He ignored the wavering stench the best he could, but it was hardly a bouquet of roses. Serving him to silently ask once again; why had he come here? Why Seattle? What was he hoping to find within a decaying city still so heavily trapped within the aftermath of the Pulse?

On the street, nothing moved. Perhaps it was simply a quiet area, but Adam sensed that people were keeping off the streets for a reason today. The murder of the transgenic must've rattled the citizens of Seattle - although most of them would likely have seen it as poetic justice, rather than murder. Now they were probably hiding indoors for fear that a transgenic army was at this very moment, preparing to march against them all. Adam grinned slightly at the thought, and wished for such a scenario to occur. _That _would be poetic justice.

Still shaken by the previous night, Adam wondered if the sight of the swinging body would haunt him forever. Would those wide, lifeless eyes stare in his direction forever? Or would they sink into obscurity like these scraps of memory that plagued him now?

And then his mind's eye turned inwards, and wandered slowly through the memory of a woman with molasses coloured curls, framing a beautiful face so often cast in moody stubbornness. And the eyes that blazed with anger - more often than not when they turned towards him.

Taking the tattered poster from his pocket, he traced his fingers over the drawing of the woman. She was his reason for being here. _She_ was what he hoped to find.

Willing his mind to be silent, just for a little while at least, Adam tightening his jaw with resolve and fixed his gaze ahead. His eyes fell upon the battered apartment block opposite him that he had barely noticed until now. Something about that small piece of shrubbery struggling to survive beside the entryway seemed familiar. As did the dead vines that tangled around the thin iron rails to spread sodden brown leaves over the steps.

Frowning, Adam searched his mind, trusting his short-term memory which was at least a little more accurate than his long term.

And then he smiled in recognition, and stepped out from the doorway at last.

* * *

Adam stood in the apartment's darkened corridor and wondered if it was normal for his heart to sound so methodical as it pounded in his chest. With a frown he took a deep breath and focused on the door in front of him, as if he could analyse it for clues about the person who lived on the other side.

The door was scarred with dents and scratches from years of abuse. It seemed many people had come and gone through this doorway, taking their post-pulse frustrations out on the wood as they passed. A few days ago he'd made a slurred mental note - as he was escorted across the threshold - of how easily it would be to simply give the door a shove and watch it fall in rotten splinters to the ground. Perhaps it would fall for him, but not for others. Upon closer inspection, Adam realised the door was stronger than he had first thought in his delirium. It had seen many people come and go before him. Sometimes leaving a mark, sometimes simply leaving.

Shivering slightly, Adam decided to stop finding analogies in the damn door. It only served to make his burden of guilt that much heavier when he thought of how he had left his mark on Terry, and then left her to deal.

When he had recognised the building he'd acted on impulse - crossing the road and tearing silently up the stairs to the third floor without giving thought to what he'd say to Terry once he saw her again.

Perhaps once, he had been good at dealing with woman and explanations. But somehow, Adam had a feeling that woman and explainations were two areas of life he'd never been much talented in dealing with. Especially when used in conjunction with each other

Hardening his mind against the anxiety of how she might respond to him, Adam raised his fist to the door and rapped briskly on the pitted wooden surface like a short burst of machine gun fire. The sound broke the silence of the trash-littered corridor and seemed much louder because of it.

Glancing about self-consciously, Adam wondered once again it was foolish for him to have come here and risk attracting attention to himself,. As the seconds drew out further and further, he stepped away, regret and relief both encompassing him as he realised Terry mustn't be home.

Walking towards the stairs, Adam asked himself what crazy impulse had driven him to Terry's door anyway. How could he hope to face the girl he had nearly strangled, and explain to her it was simply a moment of pure primeval impulse? Triggered perhaps by whatever animal existed within his genetic make up? Shaking his head, he silently berated himself as to how he could be so foolish and began to descend the stairs.

And then from below, he heard a door open and the pad of shoes begin to ascend towards him. For a moment his body remained rooted to the spot, momentarily lacking all natural instinct. Then his mind kicked in and considered his options. The window at the opposite end of the corridor led to a three story drop that no human could get up and walk away from. Although, the question of '_but could a transgenic?' _brushed at his mind.

He wasn't sure if it was worth the risk findng out.

Which left him to face the approaching person and see what may come. As his tingling senses caused the hairs at the back of his neck to stand, he knew who this person was even before she came into sight.

A startled gasp sounded as soon as Terry stepped into view, her arms laden with grocery bags. For a moment the two stood face to face - meters apart - both unsure of what to do. Feeling like an animal about to be caged, Adam wondered if he should simply step past her and continue on down the stairs, but his feet refused to move.

Likewise, Terry's astonished expression was frozen on her face - turned to stone by the eyes of Medusa. But at last Adam stepped back from the stairs and held up his hands in entreat to try and show he meant no harm.

Still she stood poised with one foot on a step, and Adam bit his lower lip between his teeth and frowned as he tried to summon the right words to his tongue.

"Please, I'm not here to hurt you." Stopping himself from adding '_again_' on to the end of that sentence, Adam instead waved his hands and added lamely, "I'm sorry."

It seemed a ridiculously hopeless way to start his apology, given the givens, but Adam couldn't see any other way. There was so much he wanted to say, yet at the same time, his mind was entirely blank. Held back perhaps, by the small voice of apprehension that felt he shouldn't reveal anything at all.

"Sorry for what? Trying to kill me? Or for letting me live?"

Having found her voice at last, Terry seemed no longer afraid to use it. Her eyes glowered with steadily mounting anger which had evidently been stockpiling for this very confrontation. "Have you come back now to finish the job?"

There was a hatred in Terry's tone that reached Adam's senses loud and clear. He took a step back, feeling out of his element now more than ever. If she were an enemy facing him with a loaded gun, he felt he'd probably be more at home with 'handling it'. Those mysterious instincts he possessed would kick in, surpassing all awkwardness and quandary. But instead she stood before him armed only with words, and a cold anger that ate into his very being. And he had no idea as to how to handle the situation.

_((She regarded his with a stony expression, her eyes bright with outrage as they so often were when turned his way. "What, you're moving me _again_? But I've just begun to settle! I've got friends -"_

_"Yeah. And that's the problem Jondy. You're getting too comfortable here. You've got friends, and soon you're going to find yourself wanting a boyfriend - a family even!"_

_"And does this make you jealous? Or do you simply want _us_ to be as miserable as _you _are?"_

_He walked away, shoving his hands deep into his jacket to hide the fists clenched in frustration. Perhaps he _could _do a better job of explaining himself, but why should he have to? He was her C.O., and she should have enough brains to know this - and to know not to question his orders. But instead she'd allowed her mind to grow soft and lazy during the years they'd spent one the outside. He knew she was trying to pull away from him, to convince herself that she was a normal person. But she was only fooling herself - she'd never be normal. And he refused to allow her to forget this fact._

_Turning back to the petite blonde, he snapped out his hand and grabbed her, his fingers tightening almost cruelly over the small bones of her wrist._

_"You'll do what I say Jondy."_

_Two pairs of eyes steely with determination, met each other. Neither glare wavered._

_"You're _not _my commanding officer anymore, Z-"))_

"So what, do I get an answer? Or are you gonna go all weird on me again?"

Grudgingly letting the flashback slip from his mind, Adam returned to the present, realising a crucial piece of puzzle had just eluded him. Bad timing was certainly one of the 'Laws of Murphy'. Whoever _he _was.

"Look. I don't know what to say. I don't even know why I'm here! I just…" Wincing at his own uncertainty, Adam ran a hand briskly through his shaggy blonde hair before continuing. "I never wanted to hurt you. It was an accident."

"Oh yeah, sure. I can see how your fingers could have _accidentally _wound themselves around my throat." Terry's tone was sharp and filled with sarcasm as she hefted a shopping bag that had begun to slip in her arms, and waited impatiently for perhaps a better excuse.

Adam clenched his jaw, knowing there was no point wasting his time here any longer. How could he have expected her to understand when he didn't understand himself? "Fine. I get your point. I shouldn't have come here."

Stepping out of her path, Adam waved the woman past, wincing slightly as he noticed her flinch at his sudden movement.

Hesitating, Terry gave a small nod and sidled past, feeling his eyes on her back and aware that he still stood at the top of the stairs as she fumbled for the key to the door.

"You know, I've imagined this exact situation a few times since I woke with these bruises on my throat."

Her voice caused Adam to halt as he began to turn away and he paused, waiting for her to continue, half afraid of what she had to say.

"And each scenario ended with a different outcome. Initially, I had you arrested, and dragged off to whatever fate it is that greets _transgenics _once they're recaptured."

Sliding the key into the lock, Terry gave Adam a measuring look, watching to see how he would respond to a word that had earlier seemed to cause him such pain.

Finding Adam had squared his jaw and set his face in an expression of determination, Terry knew he had prepared himself to see her words through, without jumping the gun as he had last time.

"But watching the news late last night and seeing a transgenic swing like a butchered animal, I thought at first that it was you the mob had captured. And instead of glee I felt only horror." She paused then, awkward and fumbling. "Seeing you now - I want to hate you, I really do. But after last night… As much as I want to hate you, I just feel sick."

Resting her head against the pitted surface of the door, Terry sucked in a shuddering breath, knowing this was a conversation that had no place in a public corridor - as much as the residents on this floor consisted only of rats and cockroaches.

She wanted to hate him, but after watching with horror what had been done to one of his own on the news the night before, she understood - just a little - what it must be like for him. To be hunted down with such brutality, just because people refused to understand. Of course it didn't justify what he did to her, but she remembered waking up on her mattress covered by a blanket, rather than a crumpled heap upon the floor, and she knew that he'd stopped himself from doing what (if the media were to be believed) came as natural to him as breathing. Some how that had to account for something.

Glancing sidelong at the transgenic as she swung the door open - noting the way his brows furrowed in some hidden pain she had no way of comprehending, Terry knew she was caving in. Though, she told herself it was out of curiosity as to what he had to say for himself, rather than pity.

"Fine. Come in. But seeing as you're obviously not in the state you were a few days ago, I'm expecting a damn good explanation."

Wondering what the hell she'd just gone and done as startled blue eyes raised from the ground to meet her own, Terry gritted her teeth in determination and nodded him towards the door as she stepped through. "Coming in or what?"

Nodding silently, Adam pushed away from the wall and followed the woman he barely knew inside her apartment. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he tried to hide the way they trembled. In fear of his own self.

**TBC... **


	5. Discussions

Apologies for taking sooo long to get this chapter up. It's been sitting near-finished in my WIP folder for months and months, waiting to be rounded off, but my muse lost steam some time ago and I've had no idea where to go with this. I revised the previous chapters and (hopefully) made some improvements on them, which motivated me to finally get part five up online. Thanks to past reviewers, now I just hope people are still wanting to read it!

* * *

**Lying To Zack**

**- Chapter Five**

They sat opposite each other at the kitchen table, an otherwise nervous silence masked by Terry's words. Adam had hesitantly shared a few details of his life at the farm, superficial things - nothing which gave away too much of himself, or the people he had lived with

It was difficult for each of them, considering what had transpired the last time Adam sat in this room, but if he was to have any chance of figuring out his life without getting caught by those less forgiving than Terry, this conversation had to take place. And with any luck, the woman could tell him something which would trigger his memories to return, rather than his rage.

"At first we thought it was bullshit. An elaborate series of hoaxes set up the underground media to fuel their crusade against the police state we live in. Blah blah blah."

Terry paused, her grey eyes far-away, a faint smile of irony tugging at her lips. "But then the sightings of these so-called 'freaks' grew. In alleys late at night, behind dumpsters… people were finding something strange about the homeless who populated the streets. We knew there was _something _the authorities were trying to keep from us. It was like a - a collective fear. We all felt it. But we couldn't explain why."

Adam sat with almost inhuman stillness as he listened to Terry speak. She was filling in the blanks of his memory with her side of the story. _Seattle's _side of the story. And his attention never once diverted from her voice as he drank in the details he almost felt he knew already; though told from a viewpoint quite unlike any he might have cared to know in a different life.

"The cops were running in circles, trying to cover the asses of those bigger than themselves. And then when that poor blind girl was murdered in the sewers..." Wrapping her arms tight around herself to hide the shudder, Terry's eyes swept furtively across Adam, a half sub conscious check that he wasn't preparing to lunge at her once more. "Nothing could stop the fear and loathing of transgenics after that. We were all but searching each other for barcodes."

Adam rubbed a hand over his neck as if to rub away the damning evidence of his genetic make up. Unable to stay in one spot for too long, he rose from his seat and began to pace the small kitchen area, impatient to know details which would help his immediate situation.

"So why did you help me? You'd seen the news, heard the rumours. Why didn't you turn me in when you saw the barcode?" His voice held a tone of accusation as if wary that even a kind action could hold malicious motive. "Why?"

Blowing gently into her coffee, to stall for time more than to cool her drink, Terry thought back to that moment when her eyes had fallen upon Adam's tattoo as he lay unconscious upon her floor. She recalled the chill of panic that had caused her blood to freeze, and how she had indeed considered turning him in to the cops.

"I don't know." She replied softly. "Perhaps I was curious? Bored? Too damn scared to move?"

Adam frowned, feeling as if he were trying to understand a world he wasn't suited to. Curiosity and boredom seemed so alien. Fear had it's uses, but the other two were wasted emotions. _Curiosity killed the cat. _The phrase echoed in his head, and he absently wondered what era of his life he'd first heard it in. Ceasing to pace, he sat back on the edge of his seat and caught her eyes with his own, challenging.

"And now?"

Terry let out a short burst of laugh that lacked humour. Feeling put on the spot she pushed her chair back and made to stand. "And now I'm thinking you'd best get some sleep. Do you have some place to -"

"I don't need to sleep." The words shot from Adam's mouth, sharp and hard and he lput out a hand to stop Terry from rising to her feet. He wanted to know everything she had heard about transgenics and Manticore. He needed to know now, so that he could plan what to do next.

"You don't huh? Well, you slept a couple days solid when I brought you here." Terry's eyes fixed on the vice-like hand that grasped her slender wrist, and fought to keep her voice calm and steady. Would he now keep her a prisoner in her own home?

"I need to know."

There was no arguing with that tone. Cold. Mechanical. Terry sank back into the worn chair and Adam released his grip upon her wrist, his eyes held a warning within their steel-blue orbs. As lacking in warmth as his tone. Silently, Terry wondered how she could have ever thought this man to be vulnerable.

"There's not much more to tell. I've told you of how it started; the vet hospital that burnt down, the one Eyes Only claimed to be a secret government facility called -"

"Manticore." Adam whispered the word, his jaw tightening as if stirred by a sudden painful memory. He leant forward, eager. And then, "who's this Eyes Only?"

Terry raised an eyebrow at the sudden sharpness in his tone, wondering why the cyber-journalist would prompt such reaction when he'd managed to breath 'Manticore' without raising a brow.

"He's a… " She paused, wondering how to explain what little anyone knew of him. "He does cable hacks to tell people what's really going on out there in the world. The stuff the government won't let us know about. Or so he claims. The last few months his focus has been almost entirely on the transgenics."

"And what does he know of transgenics?" Adam wasn't sure why, but the name "Eyes Only" rankled him.

"A lot. Apparently. He's the one who exposed the vet hospital for what it truly was. He's been campaigning for the transgenic cause ever since it was burnt to the ground. In fact, he'd be the best person for you to talk to on the subj -"

"Where can I find him?" Adam cut in, his voice now etched with cold flint.

"Well, that's where you have a problem. Nobody knows."

Silence invaded the room as Adam processed this information. Terry clasped her hand around the coffee mug and exhaled a long quiet breath.

"Do you remember anything? About Manticore? I can't imagine..."

Terry's voice trailed away. More cautious than ever now. There were those jaw muscles working overtime again. Whether it was fear or rage or something else, Terry knew the memories of this place stirred something dark within Adam, even if he wasn't sure yet exactly what it was. She feared pushing too far, she dreaded what might happen if he were to unleash the monster within him once more. But he seemed oblivious to her concerns, his gaze far away as he fought to recall things that were perhaps best left forgotten.

"I remember... snatches of images... words... I see faces and I feel I should know their names, but sometimes... sometimes it's just numbers in their place."

(("X5-599, Sir!"))

His eyes met Terry's, sharp and bright, a realisation hitting him.

"We had numbers. Instead of names."

Terry shivered, her mind finding it hard to believe such a concept. To be born and raised in an environment where even a _name _was denied to a child - she didn't blame Adam for his sterile emotions and strange mannerisms. She could almost forgive him for the rage he'd unleashed when she'd mentioned his prison of birth. Almost.

"So how did you wind up with a name?"

"I don't know." Drawing his mind out from the mosaic of torn memories, Adam shrugged. "It's irrelevant. I need to decide what I'm going to do now. If _Eyes Only_ is telling the truth and Manticore is gone, I have to work out where to go next."

Terry forced herself to look away from the figure who sat opposite her; hard eyes, jaw set in determination, and committed to carving up a path for himself that would no doubt get him killed. She couldn't afford to get caught up in his problems - problems that could get _her _killed. Why should she care anyway?

"Go back to your old life Adam. Forget Seattle. Just go back to the farm and forget Manticore."

"Do you really think I can do that?" Adam jumped from his seat and began to pace the room once more, a restless animal tired of it's cage.

"Don't you think I _would _forget all this if I could? But that's the problem see - I can't forget! It's always there in the back of my head, affecting everything I think and feel! And I'm closer now. I know there's others like me here in Seattle. God, I saw one of them strung up and beaten to death! I keep asking myself; 'what if I grew up with him? What if he was one of the ones I was responsible for?'"

And there was no denying that a part of him did feel responsible for the death of the transgenic. It was a burden he felt right in his very gut, as if worrying about the safety of others came natural to him. He felt as if he should have had some kind of foresight, he should have been there to help the guy - to find him safety. But then at the same time he ask himself _why?_ Why should he be responsible?

((The night we all escaped you put your lives in my hands. I've been looking out for you ever since. Every one of you.))

Adam shook his head in attempt to shake the ghostly whisper from his mind. But could it be true? Was he responsible for all of them? Every single one?

"Maybe I never knew him at all? The point is, I don't want to live my life not knowing who I am, and always running from something I can't even identify. I don't want to spend each day fearing what I might do to someone."

Remembering the poster of the woman which he'd found clinging in tatters to a wall, he brought it out of his jean pocket and carefully unfolded it with hands that shook ever so slightly. Tracing his fingers lightly over the outline of her face, Adam's brow creased as his mind tried to reach out to shards of memory which hovered on the brink of recollection.

"The girl, who is she?"

For a moment Adam couldn't reply. He'd already shared so much with Terry tonight - risked so much. Opening up to someone made him vulnerable. It exposed him to risk. He sensed that working out problems on his own was something he'd always done. Even in the absence of memory, old habits could be hard to break.

But Adam could sense Terry's discomfort and felt their awkward silence begin to settle upon them. Stifling. He sought to fill the silence with words, hesitant at first, unsure how she would react - unsure how _he_ would react. Then the words began to spill out, as speaking them aloud could release the ghosts of his past which haunted the fringes of memory.

"Her name is Max. I'm sure of that much. She was the first memory to come back to me - the first indication that something about my life on the farm didn't make sense. I remembered her as a child first of all. First Max, then others - other children like us. The place where we grew up…"

((_From the corner of his eye he saw Jack fall to the ground, collapsing into convulsions he could no longer hide. Clenching his teeth, he told himself not to look, to remain impassive and pay no attention. He fought to follow the orders he'd been raised with. _

It was important to show nothing. No matter how he felt, he couldn't show affection towards his unit. Such things could get him dragged away just as they were dragging away Jack now… and then they'd want to know why - why was he defying his training?

Sentimentality would get him killed. It would get them all killed… ))

Jack. He remembered him now. The boy who the guards had taken away, and never brought back. Somehow, that had been the kind of world he'd lived in.

Realising Terry was waiting for him to continue, Adam took a deep breath, frowned as he searched for words, and then ploughed on.

"In the beginning I thought it was all a dream - a strange re-occurring dream. But the dream wouldn't stop. Not even when I was awake. So then I figured there was something wrong with my head - that I was going mad. The doctors said things like this might happen because of the head injury I'd sustained in the truck accident. But, it felt real. Too real."

"Where was Max when you first saw her in your memories? What was she doing?" Terry coaxed Adam back around to the girl, hesitant for him to realise too many dark things about 'Manticore' too soon.

"I remembered her in a large room filled with rows of beds. It was late at night, she was crying. I was scared, and angry at her for crying. I was afraid they'd take her away if they were to see her in such a state."

((She sat on the edge of the bed, her entire body shaking sporadically. He held her tight, trying to stop the convulsions. Tears coursed down her face and impatiently, he brushed them away. They were as much a sign of weakness as the seizures which attacked her body.))

"Who? Who would take her away?"

"I don't know. The doctors? The soldiers? I don't remember what they were. There were guards monitoring us, day and night. And doctors... They were always there checking on us, making sure we weren't... I don't know, defective?"

"I can't imagine how growing up in that environment would effect a person…" Terry whispered the words, only half aware she'd said them aloud. How could a child endure so much?

"At first I tried to rationalise it. Maybe these were memories of an orphanage I'd lived in? But that didn't seem right either. What orphanage would train children to use weapons?"

He saw Terry's eyes widen slightly, startled. Obviously this was more than what _Eyes Only _had revealed during his cable hacks.

"Like I said, I thought I was going mad. Footsteps marching in formation... It seemed surreal. Nothing made sense. And no one on the farm had any answers. Buddy and Mary - they'd shift their eyes and change the subject, try to find things for me to do to take my mind off it all. But nothing could stop the memories from keeping me awake at night. And when I'd finally sleep... well then there'd be the dreams."

Or rather, nightmares. Horrible nightmares that often seemed far more real than any of the hollow memories Buddy or Mary had ever tried to give back to him.

((His body had been strapped down so that he couldn't move. A laser seared his eye, the burning pain causing him to cry out, although the gag in his mouth muffled the sound.

Doctors peered down at him, their faces covered with surgical masks so only their cold penetrating eyes showed any semblance to human form.

And then the pain, the incredible pain…

Limbs broken and reset. His mind picked clean so that even his inner thoughts were no longer his own. No past, no presence, and his future entirely in the hands of these people. These people with their surgical masks and cold, cold eyes. These people who would see him reduced to nothing more than an automaton.))

It was a nightmare Adam had awoken to many times on the farm. And it had summoned such an incredibly feeling of paralysing horror and powerlessness that he'd wake close to screaming - clawing at his throat as he tried to breath. Fear was a weakness, but a part of him also knew that fear was one of the things to have kept him alive throughout his life. Because if he stopped being afraid - if he stopped running from his fears, he'd find himself back _there_. Back in that nightmare room.

Rubbing his hands across his face, Adam tried to wipe the image from his mind. His body felt drained and he remembered it had been several days since he'd got any rest - not since he was last here in this room. Looking out the window, he noticed it had grown dark outside. Had he really been sitting here talking for that long?

"It's late, I should find a place to bunk down for the night." Adam willed his body to stand and move towards the door. "Thanks for help. And the coffee."

"Where are you gonna go?" Terry stood and moved towards him, suddenly concerned for his welfare as mental images of angry anti-transgenic mobs crossed her mind.

"I've got a place."

It was a lie and Terry could see it. She pursed her lips together. "No you don't."

Adam shrugged, and reached for the door handle. "It's none of your concern."

As he stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him, Adam cursed his stubborn sense of independence. Had he always been like this? She probably would have offered him her floor, and it would have been the safest sleep he could hope for, given the givens. Gods only knew he needed it. But it was too late now, and he sure as hell wasn't going to turn around and ask more of her than he already had.

"You can sleep here tonight. It's not safe out there for you."

Adam spun around, kicking himself that he hadn't heard the door open behind him.

Terry folded her arms over her chest as she leant back against the doorway, a faint smile on her lips. "Don't think I'm growing any kind of affection for you - I just don't want to read about your death in tomorrow's paper."

Adam hesitated, a protest rising to his lips even as he knew she was right. He swallowed it back; there was a time to be self-reliant, and a time to realise when help was needed. Nodding slightly, Adam re-entered the room, silent, as words of thanks too awkward to yet reach his lips.

The air shift behind him as Terry closed the door and he felt self-conscious suddenly as he surveyed the two wooden chairs and the lone mattress before him in a whole new light. Had the apartment suddenly grown smaller since he'd last stepped in here?

A light touch at his elbow startled him and he mentally berated himself for being so jumpy all of a sudden. So easily caught off-guard.

"There's another room you can use, through here…"

Terry bit her lip, catching a look in the transgenic's eyes she hadn't expected to find. Flustered suddenly, she dropped her hand from his arm. "Um, there's no mattress in there, but the carpet's at least cleaner than any place out there you'd likely find yourself in tonight, and I've got a spare blanket. "

The small bedroom was more dilapidated than the living room. With the thin wall which intercepted the next apartment kicked in, Adam could see directly into the adjourning apartment which was thankfully empty. Although, he understood why Terry preferred not to use it herself. Still, it didn't phase him. He'd suffered far worse.

"Thanks."

Terry kicked a few items of junk to the corners of the room, muttering, "this stuff belonged to the previous tenant" as if self-conscious of it's mess. She then left the room and returned with a blanket from her own bed and spread it over the freshly bared patch of floor.

"You'll be okay then?"

((It's been a long time since I've been able to let my guard down long enough to sleep.))

The echo of words he'd spoken in a former life sprung to mind, and he hesitated, wondering whether to say them out loud again. Reminding himself he was safer here then he was on the streets, Adam shook a lock of blonde hair from his line of vision and met Terry's concerned grey eyes, silent for a moment as he mentally assessed her concern. Then, a smile broke through his usually impassive façade.

"Sure."

* * *

Adam woke early the following morning to the sound of Terry creeping around the kitchen. He'd lain in bed some time, listening to her move about. The occasional clank of a pot, the smack of a dish and soon the smell of fresh coffee filtered to his nostrils. 

Back on the farm, Mary prepared a hot breakfast each morning for all the farmhands. Bacon, eggs, fried tomatoes, French toast… Buddy had told him the Pulse had had little effect on the farm. They'd never taken for granted what they had, and ensured their workers had at least a decent meal in their belly's each day.

He told himself it wasn't homesickness he was feeling in that instant, and stood from his makeshift bed, stretching his body in cat-like fashion as he let each tendons adjust to the concept of waking, before reaching for his jeans and drawing him on.

A shadow passed before the doorway and Terry poked her head through, catching him as he pulled up his zip. For a moment her eyes wandered over his taunt chest and well-defined muscles before a faint blush rose to her cheeks and she turned her attention to his face. His expression revealed nothing, as if he was oblivious to his own wares. Relieved, she smiled. "Come have some breakfast."

Adam followed her out into the kitchen, tugging on his t-shirt as he went. On the table were two plates filled with steaming baked beans and beside them each, a cup of coffee.

"Beans are about the only thing I have _a lot _of." She said apologetically, grimacing in distaste. "But at least I'm so used to them, flatulence is no longer an issue."

Adam looked blank, not understanding.

"Don't worry, you'll find out for yourself." She laughed.

The coffee was great. Adam sensed he was lucky to be treated to caffeine. Silent surveillance of market place haggling had taught him coffee was hard to come by in Seattle. He made a mental note to score Terry some more, when he had the chance.

All too soon the meal had ended, with little or no small-talk to slow the mechanical movement of fork to plate to mouth. Terry clearly looked like she were searching for something to say, but was unsure what. Or how to broach the subject. Finally, as the last of the coffee was drained and the dishes stacked into the sink, she turned to him, knowing the moment of parting was growing closer and feeling like she wanted to have some idea of which section of the newspaper to look for him in, when the shit hit the fan.

"Call me curious but, what's next then? What are you going to do now?"

Blankly, Adam replied, "wash up?"

Chuckling, Terry clarified her question. "No I mean, today. Tomorrow. The next day. The rest of your life… What's the next step going to be?"

Adam was silent as he considered the question. But of course, the answer was clear. It was a path he'd set himself on the moment the name was first brought up. His expression hardened.

"I'm going to find _Eyes Only_."

Terry nodded, not understanding the depth of emotion that lay within his words.

Her nose wrinkled as she passed him. "Well, you might want to shower before you go."

* * *

. 

**End Note: **Stink ending I know. And, I know this is a bad thing to admit, but (isn't it obvious that) I'm not 100 sure exactly what the plot for this is, and this is beginning to fill me with a sense of plotless desperation, but I do have a shady little pseudo-plot that I'm semi-aware of, which ties in with the final two eps of DA and what lies beyond. Perhaps. Oh hell, who am I kidding? This is all just a load of ramble that's been drifting aimlessly for five chapters now. A one chapter stand alone that didn't know when to quit. I'd _really _appreciate constructive suggestions on where to go with this. Care to share plot bunnies, anybody? Please:)


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